Hannah
by webdlfan
Summary: Takes place awhile after RND 4.16, but deals with it. Lindsay's met a new friend, the friend blends with a case, and things go wrong. Complete, finally ... thanks so much for all the support!
1. Chapter 1

These characters do not belong to me ... but at this point I wish they did :p ... this is my attempt at making everything go in the right direction. And the poem is not mine either. But I thought it was really good.

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Hannah, Chapter 1:

Lindsay carried her lunch down the street to the little park located close to the lab. It had become her habit in recent months, on days when she wasn't in the field during her lunch break. She would escape into the sunshine and not have to deal with Danny when he came into work. She could only be grateful that this was one place they hadn't shared.

Besides, it really was a beautiful day. The smog level was low; the sky was bright and blue. And if she pretended, she could ignore the smell of exhaust and breathe in warm air that was clean.

And if she was pretending … she might as well pretend to be happy.

Danny had texted her and asked her to lunch today, as he did most days that he was coming in, and as he would have before Rueben Sandoval died. Of course, he was calling her then.

As she had the day he….

She pushed the thought back.

She'd returned his text and told him she was on her way to meet up with a friend. It wasn't a lie, really. Of course, her friend might not show. It wasn't like Lindsay knew them to be dependable.

And if it made Danny jealous, it wasn't her problem. She wasn't doing anything wrong. Even if she was seeing someone romantically, she wasn't committed to anyone.

She stopped at the traffic light and waited for the right to walk across.

And if she still loved him that was her own problem. He didn't have a right to her heart anymore.

Lindsay sighed as she walked across the street, and worked against the emotions that just seemed to spill out and over.

She found her bench, under the cover of trees, and sat down. She took a deep breath and tried to pretend.

* * *

Hands in his pockets, Danny stood on the sidewalk and leaned against the building that the park nestled beside. He watched her. He shouldn't have followed her, shouldn't have followed that need in his gut just to be close to her. If she found out, it would just be adding a few more bricks back on the wall they'd slowly begun to take down.

He missed her. Just being with her, holding her hand, listening to her laughter … without the dredge of fear that it would never be right again. Unlike other girls he'd dated, she hadn't expected him to be anything but who he was. She'd just become part of him, part of what made the two of them seem so right for each other.

He could go off, he could be a little crazy, intense ... he could put all of his emotions into a case.

And she would understand. She stabilized him.

And he loved to watch her spread her wings, try new things. He loved that part of her. He just loved being with her, watching the life and light of her smile and in her big brown eyes.

And now … she was turning down lunch with him, meeting someone else at the park.

He started to turn around, to give her the privacy that was her right. It wasn't his business whom she saw on her lunch break.

Not anymore.

Then he saw the person approach Lindsay's bench and he watched. For her safety, he told himself.

But when she turned her head and smiled, he at least knew this was her lunch date.

* * *

"Hannah," Lindsay said as her friend sat down. Dressed in clothes that had not been clean in ages, and layered too much for the summer sun, Hannah sat down on the park bench. Homeless Hannah.

She didn't reach for the half of a sandwich Lindsay had set to her side, though she nearly always accepted it when it was offered.

Nearly … because sometimes she was not in the right mind to be friendly. Like so many homeless, she needed medication. Lindsay suspected she was schizophrenic, but any offer to help was rebuffed. None of Hannah's … personalities wanted to be on medication. She said the medication kept her from her memories. It made her forget. And she didn't trust anyone enough to believe it was for the best.

Sometimes Hannah was angry and ranting, sometimes she was cold and unfeeling, and sometimes she was as soft and warm as a young girl in the bloom of womanhood. And sometimes she was the mother she'd never had a chance to be.

She'd been a developer in her other life. She'd met people, been successful and been unhappy. Her family had not wanted her then, and they didn't want her now.

Well, said Hannah.

But, most important, she was just a friend that Lindsay could turn to. They shared the fact that they were both from out west. It had bonded them in the beginning, as had their shared sadness.

Lindsay couldn't talk about what was hurting her, not during the day. Not with her coworkers. They didn't know what had happened between Lindsay and Danny--they didn't know he'd cheated on her. They didn't choose sides, but at times it seemed, though it was never said, they thought she was being a little rough on him. A little look here, a tiny comment there. Sometimes she felt it on the tip of her tongue--and somehow managed to snatch it back.

It wasn't their business and it … she was not going to make them choose sides and divide the lab. Mac had been right. What was between her and Danny didn't belong in the there. They had a job to do, and if they messed it up a criminal could go free.

"How is Detective Lindsay Monroe, today?" Hannah asked.

"Detective Lindsay Monroe is fine," she answered. When Hannah used her name, it meant she had to as well. Otherwise, it seemed to confuse her.

"Lindsay's hiding from him again."

"Maybe Lindsay is, but she likes to spend time with Hannah."

Hannah snorted.

Lindsay lifted the other half of her sandwich and held it out. "Hungry, Miss. Hannah?"

Hannah took the sandwich without a word and began to eat. Sometimes she ate like she was ravenous, sometimes, like she was scared—her eyes darting back and forth.

It seemed like today she was eating like a lady. Small nibbles with her incomplete set of teeth, long, thoughtful chews.

She simply fascinated Lindsay.

"You should forgive your man," she said at last.

"Danny?" Sometimes Hannah cursed him, sometimes she wept for Lindsay. This was something new.

"Life is really short," she said and turned, her eyes haunted with regrets. "Mistakes are made, but without glue to put it all back together, life just ends."

"Danny and I can't ever be more than friends."

"And why not? I ask you, why not?" Hannah's eyes glassed over, as she seemed to go back to her former life, as she began to recite.,..

"Forgiveness lane is old as youth, you cannot miss your way; 'T is hedged with flowering thorn forsooth where white doves fearless stray. You must walk gently with your Love, frail blossoms dread your feet— And bloomy branches close above Make heaven near and sweet. Some lovers fear the stile of pride And turn away in pain—But more have kissed where white doves hide and blessed Forgiveness Lane!

"That's beautiful, Hannah," and it pricked her heart. "But Danny and I … we have to work together—"

"But that's where you fell in love, Detective Lindsay Monroe. That's who you fell in love with. Shouldn't you look forward to the blessings?"

Lindsay shook her head. "I don't know."

"What?"

Lindsay managed a smile. "Detective Lindsay Monroe doesn't know."

"The doves will be watching Detective Lindsay Monroe. You both have strong bones."

Despite herself, Lindsay smiled. _That_ was more like something Hannah would say.

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Poem is called "Forgiveness Lane," by Martha Gilbert Dickenson. Please review if you want (not the poem, I had nothing to do with that) :p


	2. Chapter 2

_These characters do not belong to me ... I just borrowed them for a little while. They helped me get through two boring papers, so I'm grateful ... that's why an update comes so soon!_

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Hannah, Chapter 2:

Danny arrived at the scene with Mac. The fact that the murder had happened not far from the lab and the precinct didn't surprise him. Crooks and criminals weren't known to have the most common sense. It allowed them, though, to get to the scene within minutes of the 911 call.

Flack was just beginning to question onlookers. People stood around staring at them as he took out his camera and knelt down to photograph the scene. It was a homeless guy. He'd been stabbed, beaten badly. The bruises were just now forming, on his face, along his fingers—likely the marks would only worsen.

His hand covering in latex, he lifted the hand, turned it over, and took a picture. Rigor had yet to set in. He was still warm, pumped from adrenaline.

Danny sighed. There was nothing to note defenses, and everything to denote fear. The guy must have seen something, gotten in someone's way. Must have known something.

And he didn't deserve this sort of brutal treatment.

Across from him, Mac examined the body, looked around the scene with sharp eyes. He pointed out that there hadn't been much of a fight—more of a beating. A one way beating. Blood spatter only went one direction.

Danny photographed it, the ally, the trash and cardboard boxes that lined the walls.

Then he turned back to the body.

The vic reminded Danny of Lindsay's friend. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd first spotted Lindsay at the park with the woman. Since then he'd seen her on the street, had spotted her headed to the park where he knew Lindsay was eating lunch.

Lindsay didn't talk about her, didn't share the experience with him. They still didn't eat lunch together, though he'd talked her into going to a Met's game. She'd paid for her ticket, and hadn't let him escort her home. But for those few moments at the game, it had all felt perfect. Their conversation had rolled in tandem. He'd been able to believe, for just a few moments, that everything would be ok.

"Our vic's name is Mike," Flack said as he came up, flipping through his note pad. "No last name, though some call him Quiet Mike. Apparently doesn't say much. Has a few friends on this strip. Been on the street at this corner off and on for a number of years."

"I've seen him around," Mac said. "Doesn't say much."

"Found a couple of witnesses, none of them will say anything. Except one. Says she knows…though what she knows, she won't say," Flack jerked his head back, in the direction of the weitnes. "Says she'll only speak to Detective Lindsay Monroe. Just how she said it. Says Mike told her secrets. She can only tell Detective Lindsay Monroe. She wants Lindsay."

_She wasn't the only one_, Danny thought and looked behind Flack along with Mac. He stood up, camera in hand to get a better look. He saw the woman, hidden in the shadows of the building, watching them. He recognized her immediately.

"Lindsay knows her. Has been talking to her," he murmured.

"Who is she?" Flack asked.

Danny shot him a look. "Lindsay hasn't said."

_As if she would say anything to me_.

Flak shrugged, but kept his eye level with Danny's. He wasn't repentant, even though he knew better.

Mac's phone went off. "Lindsay's off today. Call her—get her in."

Danny watched Mac walk off, and then turned to Flack. "You better do it. She won't pick up if she sees it's me."

Flack sent Danny another look. As the only one of their team who knew what he'd done to Lindsay, Flack had already had his say. A number times.

"You could text her."

"Funny."

Flack pulled out his phone, punched in Lindsay's number.

"Hey—Monroe."

Danny turned away, let Flack handle the conversation. It might always be like this, no matter what he wanted—what he hoped they could build. She'd been devastated enough that she'd struggled seeing him at work, struggled with working with him, with their dialogue. It was quite like that she would hold him off. She'd already told him. She wanted his friendship. She couldn't imagine not seeing him, not working with the team.

But she couldn't date him.

His fingers tightened around the camera and he knelt back down, got back to work. Work seemed that was the only thing he could get right. Being friends meant a lot, and he was thankful she was willing to give him that, but not dating meant he'd lost even more.

"Lindsay's on her way," Flack said as Mac came back up.

"Good—Danny, wait here for Hawkes. HHe's on his way. Process the scene, then get back and update Lidsay. Flack," Mac said, his voiced clipped and determined. "You're with me. Angell just finished the follow up with the man who called in the 911 report. Said he saw them go around the ally."

"Let's see what we find."

As Mac and Flack left, Danny sighed. Sure, have him update Lindsay. Just what she wanted.

And wished he'd been the one to call Lindsay, to hear her voice.

* * *

Lindsay climbed into the cab and set her oversized leather tote down beside her, her purchases tucked safely inside. She'd been shopping, had found a shirt in light blue that made her feel pretty and had found a small gift for Danny's birthday. Maybe there was a little part of her that wanted him to see that she wouldn't forget his birthday, even as a friend, but it wasn't quite like that. She liked Danny—she missed his companionship, and wanted to give him a gift, even in friendship. She liked the way he kind of half chuckled when he was just a little embarrassed and pleased. She liked to surprise him. She wanted to see that look in his eyes that said she'd made him happy.

She didn't know how to make him happy anymore. She couldn't give him what he said he wanted.

Even if she'd been thinking more and more about Hannah's words.

She'd found the poem Hannah had quoted and had bought a small book of poetry to give her friend. That was another purchase she'd made today at a quaint used bookstore in SoHo. She'd used a spare piece of paper she'd had in her purse to mark the poem. Hannah wouldn't accept anything new, but Lindsay thought that maybe she'd accept this.

It had surprised her that Flack had called. If Hannah had witnessed a murder, she was in danger. She had no protection on the streets, was wide open to attack. Lindsay wondered if she could convince her to come stay at her apartment. Danny would hate it ….

But Danny's opinion didn't matter anymore.

Hannah was the one in need of protection. Lindsay pictured her eyes, sometimes calm, sometimes wild, and more often than not, stormy. Still, there was innocence there. A vulnerability.

She pulled her badge from her purse and fastened it to her belt, then did the same with her piece. Back in Montana she hadn't carted her piece around with her on her day off. Crime had been a lot less frequent, her days off more her own time.

Now she never knew when she would be called in—though most of the time her days off were still her own. At least she was in Manhattan and not far from the precinct. The quicker she got there, the better for Hannah.

"You got your serious face on, little lady."

Lindsay smiled at her cab driver. He was older, had lines around his eyes that made her think of her father.

And of Mac.

"Probably. It happens a lot lately," she quipped—and sent him a smile. One of the things she loved about New York was that every cab ride could be an experience.

"Man got you down? I see that all the time."

"Ha … maybe a little. But it's my day off. I don't have time for men getting me down."

"That's a girl."

* * *

Turning into the ally with his gun drawn, Flack saw the door of a long, battered sedan de ville. He raised his weapon. "Stop—"

At that he and Mac took off running. The car took off. Flack fired down at the tires, but the car sped out of the ally and whipped around the corner.

And it was gone.

Out of breath at the end of the ally, Flack watched as the car weaved perilously through traffic, clipping a car as it turned the next corner with a screech of tires. Flack pulled out his phone, called it in. He had a tag number. A good description of the car.

It shouldn't take long. They were only blocks from the station.

Behind him, Mac went back and studied the area where the car had left. "Let's see if we can find anything."

* * *

Still a good eight blocks from the precinct, Lindsay laughed as her cab driver Bob finished another story about his granddaughter's love life. She had to admit, there was something magical about his voice. Something there had calmed her somewhat, made her relax.

Then she heard the squeal of tires, the melding of metal as car hit car.

"What the—" Bob muttered as he swerved.

Lindsay leaned up, watched the long sedan speed toward them. Fishtail.

And slam into the side of the cab. Metal against metal—speed crashing into matter.

Lindsay reached out as the cab flipped.

Then it all went dark.

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_Would love a review if you feel inclined._


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of these characters, have just borrowed them for a little bit.

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Hannah, Chapter 3:

Hot, heat. sharp … stabbing pain. The world swirled around her. Dark and void. Sounds crashed together, voices, cars. Shouts.

Her chest felt burdened. She coughed, and then slowly blinked.

Lindsay groaned and winced as she tried to move against the pain. Her shoulder throbbed. Dislocated or broke. Her head ….

She blinked again, tried to get her bearings.

_No wonder she hurt._

She lay on the top of the cab, looking up at the floorboard. She shifted, stretched her legs and arms and listened to the cacophony of noise coming in from the outside. People were talking, but they seemed to far away. Someone was wailing. Someone had died, was all she could think.

She felt nauseous, dizzy.

The smell of gas. _Not good._

On a moan, she shifted, tried to straighten.

It all came back, the car, the cab. She was in a cab. She reached up, touched the sharp pain in her head. Her fingers came away wet with blood.

_She saw Danny's eyes, the way he'd looked at her that day when Flack had been hurt. 'Get that checked out.'_

_Danny …_

She closed her eyes as his face swam before her. _Danny_.

She pushed back against his name, his face, her shoulder and her head. She needed to get out. She was supposed to be headed to the precinct. To see Danny.

No … not Danny. She'd been called. They'd called her to come in. They'd been talking about Danny. No … about girls and men.

Her driver …

"Bob?" she murmured, trying to shift around so that she could see. Tried to see him. "Bob, can you hear me?"

She slapped her palm again and again against the clear panel between them. "Bob!"

Then she smelled smoke.

_Gas and smoke._

She needed to get out. Needed to get Bob out. She could still hear voices outside, but no one was coming. No one had moved to help.

She grabbed her tote, rummaged through it. Then just took off her shoe. Turning, she found the window already busted. She used her shoe to knock away the glass, even as tears slid down her cheeks as she dealt with the throb in her other shoulder. She ignored the splintering pain as glass sliced through her hand, through her skin.

"Lady, back up," someone called. She moved quickly, and pulled her tote up to protect her face as a thick work boot kicked in the rest of the glass. It broke off, splintering into the cab.

She crawled out, the glass cutting into her skin. Hands tugged her, yanking on her shoulder. She cried out—and nearly wept with gratitude when she was plopped down on the asphalt.

Lindsay sat up, blinking against the nausea. It wasn't just smoke. Other cars, surrounded them. Another taxi. Metal twisted, smoke lifting into the sky. There were people there, working to save others. There were so many … a mother holding her child, weeping. Both of them weeping. A man, stumbling, holding the gash in his head, blood oozing through his fingers. Someone was there, trying to help him.

There were children crying. She could now make out the voices … and in them she heard children.

It seemed the world was surrounded by a grey fog. Smoke, the though. Smoke and steam and air pressure.

She turned, trying to catch her breath and looked at her own ride. She could see the lick of flames from the engine.

_Bob_.

She pushed up, tried to move back.

"You need to get back," the man said.

"Where's EMS?"

"They haven't gotten here yet."

"We got to get him out."

"Who—"

"The man, the driver. He's got grandchildren." She could hear his voice, the love in it, telling about them. About his granddaughter's messy love life.

"Lady you need to get away from here."

She pushed up and went for the driver's side. _Please_, she prayed … and was thankful to see that the door had been forced open when it flipped. Mangled and warm to the touch, it scrapped against the asphalt, but opened just enough to give her hope. She tugged again, wincing against the pain that shot out from her shoulder.

The hands of the man who helped her, moved in beside her.

"You should get back," she said.

"We'll get him out first."

The smoke got in her eyes, the wind blowing it toward them so Lindsay fought to get her breath. Her head swam against the pounding of her head. She felt the trail of blood run down her face. She blinked against the smoke.

Her fingers ran over Bob, checking him for injuries. He moaned at her touch.

"Bob," she said. "Bob, can you hear me?"

He groaned, but he didn't open his eyes.

"Lady, there's a fire."

"Ok," she said and squeezed in a far as she could between the man and the steering wheel. She unhooked Bob's safety belt. She took his weight as it collapsed on her and helped the man pull him out.

"We got to get away from here."

Lindsay nodded and pushed up. Her vision wavered, but she needed to get move fast. To get Bob back. She blinked her eyes blurry as she grabbed hold of a fistful of Bob's shirt. She stumbled with them, dizzy and tripped a little as she tried to run.

Then she heard the boom and felt the heat of the explosion.

She screamed as she flew, felt herself leave Bob's side. She hit the ground on her side, fell to her back. Groaned as glass and metal reigned down. There were shrieks, flickers of light.

The smell of fire.

_It hurt._

Where were the EMS? The cops?

Where was _Danny_?

She let out a moan, tried to move, but her fingers didn't even want to close. No fist. No …

Someone knelt down beside her, reached across her, felt for a pulse. She blinked, tried to bring him into focus.

"Danny?"

"No, not Danny," he said. He tugged at her badge, pulled it off.

She blinked. He would call. Report her badge number. "Tell them to tell Danny. Danny Messer."

"You got it," he said as Lindsay's world faded to black.

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_Don't worry; Hannah's coming back in full force next chapter. But she's only going to talk to Lindsay :p_


	4. Chapter 4

These characters do not belong to me, but I'm just borrowing them for a little while and they will be returned will all appendages in tact. I hope :p

Thanks for the reviews guys ... here's chapter 4.

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Hannah, Chapter 4:

"Lindsay not here yet?" Danny asked as he walked up to the observation window. Inside, the homeless woman looked around, her eyes panicked. They'd placed a call into social services, to see if they could find out her next of kin. Maybe they could get some medication in her. Maybe she had a prescription already.

There were a lot of maybes.

But as of right now, they had no idea what she knew, or if she really knew anything. Except … that she wanted Lindsay.

"No," Flack said. "Those nutcases that fled the scene caused a backup in traffic heading this way. If she's coming in a cab, she's probably stuck. Want me to call her?"

"Sure—see how far out she is."

Danny stepped around him, reached for the door.

"You're going to try and talk to her?"

"Lindsay?"

Flack nodded toward the woman. "Lindsay's friend."

"We've got to try something until she gets here."

"She's not going to talk to you."

Danny shorted. She wouldn't be the only one.

"Just because she wouldn't talk to you?"

"Well, yeah."

He twisted the doorknob and headed inside. The woman's eyes whipped around; focused on him. Her eyes were wild as stormy seas.

"How ya doin'?" he asked, and took the seat across from her. He set his folder of pictures and notes down in front of him.

"Where am I? What are you doing with me? Where is Detective Lindsay Monroe?"

"She's on her way."

"All of your riddles. Where is Detective Lindsay Monroe?"

Danny just stared at the woman. "I told you—Detective Flack? He told you. Detective … Lindsay Monroe's coming. We've called her."

"You're lying to me. You want to take my bones."

"Lady," Danny said, then stopped himself. For some reason, Lindsay had formed some sort of bond with this woman. He couldn't break it. It might be the only way they would find out the truth.

"I'm Detective Danny Messer," he said his name the same way she said Lindsay's. "Lindsay's partner. You said that your friend Mike told you some secrets. Can you tell me what those secrets are?"

"Detective Danny Messer?" she repeated. She looked confused, and her eyes lost some of the wildness.

"You can tell me. Lindsay would tell you that you could tell me."

"Lindsay?" she muttered and frowned over the word.

"Detective Lindsay Monroe."

"You're Danny. Detective Lindsay Monroe's Danny."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes."

Then she reached out and smacked him in the middle of his forehead with the palm of her hand. "You hurt Lindsay."

"I—"

He turned as Flack stepped in, held up a hand to stop him. When he turned back to the woman, she hit him over the head with his folder.

"Hey," he reached out, snatched the folder back. "Listen lady, you're going to get yourself booked for assault on a police officer."

"You need some help there, Messer?" Flack asked, not even trying to disguise the laughter in his voice.

Danny didn't bother to turn around and look at him. He didn't have a chance. The wild eyed panic had come back into the woman's eyes and she started to scream.

"_You can't lock me up. You'll steal my bones."_

"What bones? Listen, we're going to get Lindsay. Detective Lindsay—"

"_You're after my bones. You want them. You'll destroy them. She told me about you."_

He sighed. The woman had slid back into the paranoia. He'd destroyed a lot of things with Lindsay, but he was fairly sure at least her bones were intact. "Lindsay's on her way. She's coming."

"_She told me. I can't trust you. I know! Do not trust Detective Danny Messer—he's a liar and a cheater. He's a cheater. He hurt Detective Lindsay Monroe. Stay away from me! Stay away! Cheater! CHEATER!"_

At that, she pushed back, pushed away and nearly fell back in her haste. Danny jumped up and reached over the table, tried to catch her, but she batted his hands away.

And she started to scream. Danny just watched, not know what else to do.

"Danny maybe you should—"

"I got it," he said, picking up his folder as he kept an eye on the woman. She was trembling. Over in the corner trembling.

She'd stopped screaming, at least.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he backed up and slid through the door Flack had opened.

"Her bones," he muttered as Flack shut the door. "What do bones have to do with anything? Does she think we're going to do something with Quiet Mike's bones."

"Don't you usually? You should know," Flack said, looking down the hallway. "Stella and Hawkes came down to see what we were getting out of her. So unless they left before it all came out, they heard what she said."

Danny let out a breath and ran a hand over his face. "Great. You reach Lindsay?"

Flack grimaced and pulled his phone back out. "I got a little distracted by the show."

"Then see where she is. Apparently this lady knows her pretty good."


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own these characters ... but I love them anyway :p

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews.

This is all I've written for the moment. But I'll try to write more soon (I was trying to hold off until after this weeks epi :p ... and decided not to do it).

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Hannah 5

They'd collected what amounted to a lot of trash from the ally where Quiet Mike was murdered. Some of it could be related to the men who killed him. Some of it was their vic's—his personal possessions. His life.

And the rest was just trash.

Danny slowly pilfered through it, waiting for Adam to return. He'd taken some hairs they'd found to run for DNA.

He checked his watch and frowned. Three hours had passed since Lindsay had been called in, and as far as he knew she hadn't arrived. It was always possible she'd been tagged by Flack or Mac … or any number of people in the station. She could already be with the woman, for all he knew.

Still, there was something in his gut that worried him. He tugged out his phone, checked again for a message, anything, then gave in.

He texted her.

_L where r u? Worried here. Let me know if u r ok. D_

Then he just stood there, staring at the screen, waiting for her returned text. He had to believe she would. If she didn't …

"Dan—"

He glanced up, saw Adam in the doorway. "Fultcher the lab tech called in. He asked how Lindsay was doing."

"How she was doing?"

"Yeah—that multiple pile up this morning's been all over the news. Apparently they've been running footage from the scene. He says Lindsay pulled some cab driver from his car, then was pushed back in the explosion."

Danny's hand tightened around his phone as chills ran over him. "She's …"

Adam walked in, handed him a sheet of paper. "I called around, got the information. It's all there."

"Good—tell Stella and Flack, Hawkes. Whoever," he said, slipped out of his lab coat as he started for the door. "I'll call Mac on the way."

He ran to the elevator and called Mac on his way down, giving Mac everything Adam had given him. "I'm headed there now."

"Danny—you sure this is what Lindsay needs?"

_It was what he needed_, Danny thought. "We're still friends, Mac. We're still partners."

"I'll get there as soon as I can."

Danny nodded, then leaned back and counted the seconds until the elevator reached the ground floor.

--

"She's been out mostly since she came in—coming in and out. Restless, for obvious reasons," the nurse said as she escorted Danny to Lindsay's room, accommodating him. He hadn't wanted to wait for an update, so he'd asked her to do it on the way. "Dr. Everson gave her something to help her rest. Not much. We were hoping she'd tell us who she was."

Danny stopped in the doorway to room and felt his breath leave him. She looked so small. So pale. They'd put her in a tacky hospital gown, and though it was light blue—a color he loved on her, she still looked so very pale. A white bandage marked her head and her arm was in a temporary sling.

"Multiple concussions, she dislocated her shoulder. Has some bad bruises. Minor burns. Can't say she made it through without a scratch—but it should have been much worse. So much worse."

"But—" his voice came out as a croak. He drew in a deep breath as he just stared at her. "That's it? She's okay otherwise?"

"She was a little talking at first. Asking for a guy named Danny—I guess that's you. And Bob."

"Bob?" His stomach lurched. Had she met someone already?

"The taxi driver she rescued, apparently. Such a little thing, just squeezed into the cab to undo his seat belt. The workman who helped her said as much. He's down the hall. Explosion knocked him back too. But he's talking."

Danny nodded and tried to take it in. He just wanted to see Lindsay.

"Dr. Everson seems to think her vitals are good. Poor thing, she didn't have ID on her. We were worried she would be a Jane Doe for quite some time," she pointed toward Lindsay's leather tote. "The work man—his name's Sam—they brought him in with her, but he wouldn't let us separate them until he knew what had happened to her. He said that tote there was hers. He's in room 507 if you want to talk to him."

_Why would he_ … then he remembered. He'd flashed his badge. They thought he was here officially, as her partner.

"Thanks."

"Sure," she lay a hand on his arm. "I'm glad she has a friend like you. I can tell you two are close."

"_Yeah_," he said and turned back to look at Lindsay as the nurse left them alone. He walked into the room—slowly, not sure what exactly he was going to do or say, not knowing if she even wanted him there.

She had asked for him, the nurse had said.

When he reached the bed, he took her hand, found it warm. "Hey, Lindsay. It's Danny. Heard you …"

_Were asking for me_.

It seemed the wrong thing to say. Somehow it seemed so wrong.

"You're okay.," he said at last. "Had me worried."

Her eyes blinked open.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Danny," she murmured, and for a moment just looked at him. "Tired."

"I'm right here," he said, brushing back her hair from her face with his free hand.

He wasn't sure if she heard him or not. Her eyes had closed as he said it. "Sleep, baby," he murmured and simply watched her as he held onto her hand.

* * *

"Danny."

Danny turned and found Mac and Stella come into the room. He didn't know how long he had been standing there.

"They say she's going to be fine," Stella said as she walked around to the other side of the bed.

"Yeah," he looked at Mac. "Sorry I didn't get back to you with an update."

Mac simply nodded, then looked down at Lindsay with worry and tenderness. Like a father, Danny thought, much as he'd looked at Danny over the years.

It made Danny want to step away, to let go of her hand. He felt the shame roll over him. He still could hear Mac's words.

_You sure this is what Lindsay needs?_

It had to be, was all he could think, then pushed the thought away. He concentrated instead on what had rolled over in his head, and shifted through the worry.

"They said she didn't have any identification on her," he nodded toward the leather tote bag that was on the retractable table at the foot of the bed.

Mac picked it up, looked over the bag, his forehead creased with thought. "Burns from the cab explosion. Looks like it held up."

He motioned for Stella and they opened the bag. Mac pulled out a pastic bag from a boutique she liked and opened it. All Danny saw was something blue and a little lace, a shirt of some sort—his favorite blue for Lindsay. Next Mac took out a battered book and a package with a pair of silver metal stress balls, the kind that you rolled in your hand to help with stress.

_Steel balls._

He could still hear her say it. A joke—the way she'd teased him and given him that smile, even as she'd seemed so uncertain with him. There had been a hesitation.

Because he'd already backed away from her.

He stared at the package long after Mac set it down. A joke … a gift. Somehow he knew it was meant for him. She hadn't forgotten his birthday, he thought, and dealt with the pang of regret. It wasn't much, but it was a gift between friends.

But she hadn't forgotten.

"Danny?" Stella said his name quietly.

He blinked, and realized Mac had cleaned out her purse. He held her wallet, but he'd dawned on gloves.

"She keeps her license and ID in here, right?"

"Yeah," Danny said, and stared at the empty slots. "Someone took them?"

"It looks like it. Where's her badge, her gun?"

"I don't know. She carried it with her like we all do. They said they didn't have anyway of knowing who she was," Danny said.

"And I badge would have identified her," Mac passed off the wallet to Stella and headed out, presumably to find someone to ask.

Danny watched him go, his mind racing.

"Danny."

He looked back at Stella, watched as she nodded toward his hand. He looked down, realized he was squeezing Lindsay's hand. Slowly, he relaxed his fingers, but he didn't let go.

_He couldn't._


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own any of these characters, well, maybe besides Hannah, but I love them anyway. And it seems I just might be returning Lindsay without too much wrong this time. :p Thank you so very much for the amazing reviews. I'm glad that you guys like Hannah as much as I do.

* * *

Hannah, Chapter 6:

Alone in the hospital room with Lindsay, his hand still holding onto hers, Danny simply watched her sleep. From the reports, he understood that he'd come so close to losing her a number of times. He ran his thumb over her soft skin, and thought of the homeless woman Lindsay had befriended. Of all people, she knew about his infidelity. Lindsay hadn't told anyone at work, had not tried to create a ruckus with their co-workers.

Had not given him what he'd deserved.

Instead, over her lunch breaks, she'd confided in someone. He understood, and thought that ironically, it was Hannah that treated him as his coworkers might have done; knocking him upside the head, calling him out one on one.

_Lindsay, man_, he could almost hear Hawkes say.

All of this, when Lindsay hadn't said a word.

She shifted slowly, as she did when she came awake. He watched her blink in confusion at the lights and the room.

"Hey," he said simply and watched as she turned her head to look at him. She winced a little.

"Hurts," she muttered.

"I don't doubt it."

"What happened?"

"You were in a cab accident, coming into work," he watched her try to digest the information, clearly confused. "The cab you were in flipped. You got out, helped to pull the driver to safety when the car went up in flames."

She blinked again, and considered his words. "How long have I been in here?"

"Just a couple of hours. The doctor gave you some medicine to make you sleep."

"You look tired," she said.

She didn't remember, he realized. For her time and space had temporarily changed, and she had momentarily forgotten his indiscretion. The look in her eyes was so open, so trusting, so the way things had been. It hurt his heart to note all he'd lost..

If only he could go back and erase it all. Instead, as her mind cleared, it was all going to come out and hurt her again.

He wanted to take advantage of her laps. He wanted to tell her so many things, to open his heart. Maybe she could accept it, maybe not.

But he couldn't. He couldn't take advantage of her heart that way. Wouldn't she feel manipulated when it all came back?

Instead he squeezed her hand and stood before he did something else he couldn't take back. "I should tell the nurses you're awake."

* * *

With one arm in a sling and the other one being taken up with the nurse checking her vital signs, Danny moved back and out of the way. He couldn't hold her hand, even as his fingers ached to do so. It was like a moment in time had been sliced away and preserved as a gift. Lindsay was back to trusting him. The look in her eyes now something he could appreciate.

Something he'd missed the first time around.

She was so into him it made his heart ache. She was going to remember.

And if she didn't remember on her own, he had no doubt that her homeless friend would remind her.

_Do not trust Detective Danny Messer—he's a liar and a cheater. He's a cheater. He hurt Detective Lindsay Monroe._

Her voice brought him back. "We're working on the murder, of the Judge and the girl in that met the guy in _Second Life_."

"Ah--Suspect X. Yeah … no, that was a few weeks back," he winced. So they were that far back in time. Before he forgot her birthday, before … everything …

"Suspect X?" she repeated and wrinkled her brow.

Danny frowned and stared helplessly at her. She was coming around. The memory lapse was not permanent. He felt like he was in some bad horror flick watching on the outside as past and present crashed together, and there was nothing to do to stop it.

"Yeah …"

"And the flaming … skateboard. The street luge," she said, looking away from him, looking … confused and distressed. "That was real," her voice was soft, wounded, as if she was saying … _and we weren't_.

Danny nodded and dropped his head. She'd skipped over the bodega and Rueban's death, though he could tell in her eyes the moment she'd remembered. In a flat out moment, she'd remembered, and along with that, she thought of his mother and what Danny had done.

She was no longer simply Montana, anymore.

_We were real_, he wanted to say. _We were more real than anything else in my life_.

"Flack called about Hannah."

"Hannah?" Danny asked and looked up to find that she still wasn't looking at him. He shook his head. "Yeah, your friend."

"Is she okay?"

"If you want to call paranoid, okay."

"Danny. You know what the statistics are for the homeless to be skitsophretic or carry some other mental health issue."

"Yeah. I know the statistics," he stood and paced away from her. "Give me a break, Linds. I know. I also know the statistics of someone making it out of what you made it out of twice today."

"Danny—"

"I'm sorry," he shook his head and stared out the fifth floor window. He closed his hand into a tight fist, slowly openned it, and worked through the sudden loss of ... everything that mattered.

All over again.

Maybe it was dramatic. Maybe it was just too much--but he wanted it back. He wanted her back. After that taste, so real and so ... normal, he wanted it all back. And he didn't know how to do it. He only had this ... faulty partnership that rested between them.

"She's fine," he said, at least. "She doesn't like to be locked up. Doesn't trust us. And …"

_She sort of told the precinct my secrets. Which you never did_.

"I need to get there."

He turned to face her. "You need to rest, to heal."

She stared at him. "It's funny," she said, slinging her legs off the bed, her voice simply lacking the brightness he'd come to expect, and need, from her. "I believe you gave up the right to offer your advise into my life the moment you cheated on me."

With that said, she slipped from the bed, picked up her tote and bag of clothes Stella had brought over, and closed the door behind her as she slid into the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

These characters do not belong to me, but I'm just borrowing them for a little while and they will be returned will all appendages in tact. I hope :p

Thanks for the reviews guys ... here's chapter

* * *

Hannah 7:

Danny followed Lindsay into the station, keeping a careful eye on her. Beyond his quick briefing on what they knew about Quiet Mike's case, they hadn't spoken since she'd disappeared into the bathroom to change. She hadn't questioned him when he'd led her out to the crime lab's truck, but she'd climbed up without asking for his help. He'd stood back, watched her struggle to climb in, put on the seatbelt, before walking around and getting in on the driver's side.

"Has she said anything?" Lindsay finally asked as they walked side by side down to observation. She stopped at the one sided mirror and studied her friend.

_Plenty_, Danny wanted to say—remembering the shrill of the woman's cry as if it had been recorded in his mind. _Cheater. Cheater._

She was no longer alone. There was a case worker there at the table, sitting beside Hannah. There to represent her. So whatever she said was no longer just between them.

"She has this thing about bones," he said at last, watching the woman as she looked around, panicked.

Lindsay put her hand on the door handle and looked back at him. "Her bones are her memories. Hannah thinks memories hold a soul together. She's afraid the medication will take them away."

Danny watched as Lindsay walked inside and shut the door, thinking about what she'd said. Memories, he supposed, did make a person. Or at least, _influence_, a person.

If only he could take away a few of those memories within himself. For Lindsay. He didn't like what the memories had done … what he'd done.

"We got something on our Vic," Flack came up beside Danny, and stood watching through the window with him. "He's not some random homeless guy."

"What?" Danny asked, his eyes on Lindsay as half listened to her conversation with Hannah. She'd reached across the table, reached out to hold Hannah's hands. Hannah trembled.

"Undercover agent. Mike Lewis. His prints brought up his case file. I just got off the phone with his Lieutenant. He went undercover four months ago, following one the word of one of his sources. Whatever took him under kept him quiet. His lieutenant says Mike asked for his cooperation in keeping it quiet."

"Of course he did," Danny said, watching Lindsay's back as she favored her shoulder. "I thought he'd been around for a long time."

"Its his beat. He's got sources, has built up relationships."

"Not far from our own station."

"Apparently he has several places around town," Flack opened his notes and glanced over them. "He follows his leads. According to his rep, his superiors have reason to trust him. He's taken down some cases."

"Like what? Could be a former case turned on him."

"Could be. We'll know more when his file gets here," Flack looked in, watched Lindsay as well. "Right now, its likely she's our only lead."

* * *

Lindsay reached across the table with her good arm, clasped Hannah's hand. It was cold, trembling. "I'm so sorry, Hannah. I was held up. Are you all right?"

"No. No … They're trying to steal my bones," her eyes sought Lindsay's. "They want to take away my bones. You'll let them take them away."

_She might not have a choice._ She looked over at the case worker, wished that she'd had a moment to speak with her before heading into interview.

"I'll talk to them Hannah, I promise. I'll tell them how important your bones are for you."

For a moment, Hannah just looked at her, watched her—and then it was as if her eyes glazed over for a moment. She wondered if they had already begun to give her doses of schizophrenic medication.

And she was back.

"Quiet Mike always said I could trust Detective Lindsay Monroe. He always said so."

"Do you know what happened to Quiet Mike?" Lindsay asked.

Hannah shook her head, her lips parted and she let out a soft moan. "No … no. Not Mike."

"Not Mike," Lindsay repeated. "What happened, Hannah. He wanted you to tell me, didn't he?"

"He wanted me to tell Detective Lindsay Monroe. He said I could always tell Detective Lindsay Monroe," Hannah looked at her case worker. "But I can't tell her."

"Maybe you could give us a moment," Lindsay said to the woman.

"Hannah," the woman placed a hand on her arm. "I'm just here to protect—"

"_No—No—you're going to steal my bones_!"

"Hannah," the caseworker tried again.

"Just give us a few minutes," Lindsay pleaded as Hannah continued to cry out. After a moment, the woman nodded, gathered up her file and slowly walked out.

The moment the door shut, Hannah's cries stopped. She stared at the door, her eyes very sad. "She's still watching," she said. She looked over at Lindsay. "She'll always be watching."

"But can you tell me now?" Lindsay asked gently. "Can you tell Detective Lindsay Monroe what Quiet Mike told you to say?"

Hannah blinked and for a moment, Lindsay feared she had lost her friend's attention. Then Hannah reached across, held Lindsay's hand. "Bad men. bad men met with bad cop. They kept coming back."

"Bad cop?" Lindsay repeated. "What did they want?"

"They wanted to change out the bones."

"Bones, Hannah."

"The bones they had weren't real. They paid them to say the bones weren't real," Hannah murmured. "Bad, bad cops. Bad, bad cops."

She continued the litany, somehow unable to stop. Lindsay motioned for them to come in to get her, then stayed alone at the table.

Thinking of her own bones, bad boy cops, and the poem Hannah had given her as a gift.


	8. Chapter 8

_The following characters do not belong to me (Except, I suppose Hannah, Bob and Sam), but I love them anyway._

_I also wanted to thank ReJo for her suggestion of the lyrics (and the songs) when i couldn't find a poem matching bones with memories ... Thanks!_

* * *

Hannah 8:

Lindsay sat alone on the bench in the park and just watched the world move around her. You could see the street on the other side of the park, and the cars that moved slowly past, like ants in a row. Taxis, people, trees … it was days like these that she missed her wide open spaces, the bright blue sky that blanketed the world.

When Danny sat down next to her, she spared him a brief glance and went back to just watching the street.

They'd had to take Hannah away, give her something to calm her down. According to her representative, she probably wouldn't be able to give them anything else for at least a few hours.

Lindsay had left the building, not really to escape Danny, but to clear her mind.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said and opened a sack he'd set down on the bench between them. "I got some of that chicken noodle soup you like—just in case you're feeling like you're bad—and if not, I got your favorite chicken sandwich and a cheese burger from the—"

"I'm not mad at you Danny," she said and turned to face him. "Not anymore."

He slowly sat the last wrapped sandwich back in the bag.

"I just have to think. Have to decide."

"I'm not going to hurt you—"

"That's bull and we both know it. We're both going to hurt each other," she looked back out, but instead of the street, or the bright Montana sky, she saw a myriad of flashes from their past. Squabbles, her mother would have called them. Good times, sadness … and even then, she could still feel the rise of hurt from knowing what he'd done.

"That's the thing, Danny. Relationships are just complicated. And we have to work together, we have to see each other just about every day. Trust each other to have our backs. And we have people that trust us to do the same with each other and them … I don't know if its possible when we're both not super heroes. We're both going to hurt each other."

"What about the best of those times?"

"Good, bad .. breaks, arthritis," she nearly shifted her shoulder and felt the sharp pain, "displaced shoulder joints. It all makes up the body. And maybe the body can't take it."

"Hannah's bones."

Lindsay nodded and Danny sighed, then murmured as if he sang it …"Y_ou've got to feel it in your bones_."

"What?"

"Radiohead. _I don't want to be crippled and cracked, shoulders wrists, knees and back, ground to dust and ash, crawling on all fours. When you've got to feel it in your bones …_"

Even though he's said the words, he's sung the last line. Lindsay couldn't help but chuckle. Somehow, it mirrored her feelings. Crippled, cracked … no longer because of Danny … but because she couldn't see whatever the answers were supposed to be.

Instead, she smiled softly. "I guess I was feeling a little more like Randy Travis."

"What?"

"You know, _Diggin' up Bones. Exhuming things that better left alone. I'm resurrecting memories of love that's dead and gone. Yeah tonight i'm settlin' alone diggin' up bones._"

"Is it really dead and gone?"

"No, but thinking about it …" Lindsay said softly, and shook her head. "I don't even know if I want it to be … Danny—"

She looked over at him, found him simply waiting, imploring her with his eyes as he'd done dozens of times, a dozen since their break. "It was really good when we were … together."

He reached up, touched her cheek gently, reverently, with the back side of his hand. "Even in the bad times?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

"Then…"

"I don't know. I just … don't know." She shrugged.

He nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out as he turned to stare out over the park. This time she watched him, watched the muscle on the side of his face as he just … thought. As she was doing.

"What about lunch?" he asked at last, looking back at her.

She grinned. "I think I'll take the burger _and_ the sandwich. I'm starving. I haven't eaten since … I suppose, breakfast."

"Leaving me with the soup."

She laughed, and felt a certain amount of uncertainty dissipate. Whether they could be anything else, their friendship would be ok. That was something that was vital for her. She simply … needed him.

"It's too hot for soup. Maybe we can split the sandwich."

"But not the burger."

"Nope."

Looking at her in that steady way of his, he grabbed the burger, folded the wrapping back, and handed it to her. Then he picked up the soup for himself.

* * *

"Hey," Lindsay sat down in the chair beside Flack's desk. "We got your message."

"Yeah," he glanced briefly at Danny who'd stepped up behind her, then flipped open his notebook. "I know neither one of you are on the clock, but Hannah seems to be lucid again. Asking for you. They're bringing her back."

"That's fine. We were just out for a walk. I was staying around here, just in case."

"You sure you don't need to head out, get some rest?"

"She's going to stay for Hannah," Danny answered from behind—almost like a warning. It was true they had already been over the same path, but he hadn't pressed her—even though she saw the worry in his eyes.

"I've got to go out, check with some of Quiet … with Mike's contacts. See what they can tell me they might have told him. See if you can get Hannah to tell you who some of the other people Mike talked to, trusted."

Lindsay nodded.

Flack flipped a page in his notebook. "As for your badge and gun. We've got a report out. Mac got some footage recorded from the scene. Unfortunately they just have you on their from the time they were rolling you into the ambulance."

"Great."

"You can get a screen shot, put it on your Christmas card," Flack glanced back at the notebook. "Angell's taken this … she and some others are out, questioning some of the bystanders at the scene, to see what they saw."

"What about this guy … Sam who came in with her."

"He saved my life," Lindsay murmured.

"We still have to ask."

"We're on that … do you remember anything … anything at all?"

Lindsay frowned, tried to think back—but she didn't even remember the cab ride or the accident. She didn't remember Bob. All she could remember was Flack's phone call. She'd been standing in the store, holding on to that stupid package she'd found for Danny.

But she couldn't remember anything else. "I don't know."

"Maybe you if you talked to them. Bob and Sam. Maybe if you saw them."

"She needs to go home eventually, Flack."

"It's all right Danny," she stood up and turned to face him. "We need to know what happened to my gun, my badge. Maybe I can remember something if I speak to them."

But even as she said it, she could feel the adrenaline wearing off.


	9. Chapter 9

_The following characters do not belong to me ... but I love them anyway._

* * *

Hannah 9:

"So you located her family?"

On the other side of their shared office, which amounted to the space of her desk and his, Danny watched Lindsay fiddle with the strap of her sling. Across from her, Ellen—the social worker, that looked something like a cross between Bea Arthur with her pristine white hair and height and Tyne Daly with her firm, steady look—had pulled in a chair at his suggestion. He wanted to know what she said, and wasn't sure if they were back to the point where Lindsay would tell him.

"We think so," Hannah's representative said. She was, Danny thought, a nice woman. Committed to her charge, but somehow lacking the warmth that Lindsay needed.

But she didn't understand the depth of friendship Lindsay had formed with Hannah, who apparently wasn't really Hannah.

"We believe that she is Rose Anderson, from Jamesburg, New Jersey."

"Are you sure?" Lindsay asked; protective, and somewhat disappointed.

Ellen opened her file and handed a photograph across to Lindsay. Lindsay extended her good arm and took it, frowning as she looked at the picture. He couldn't see the photo to know what she saw, but she seemed disappointed.

He didn't get it—and wanted to get Lindsay alone to find out what she was thinking. She wanted to get Hannah, or Rose, help—didn't she?

"Rose walked out of her family home in Jamesburg and disappeared almost three years ago. She'd been on medication for a number of medical and psychological issues, but had only just made an appointment with the doctor to get her medicine increased when she disappeared. She'd not been taking it for awhile. No one's seen or heard from her since that day."

Lindsay handed the photograph back across to Ellen. "So what's the next step?"

"Her family came in last night to meet with the doctors at the psych ward. They've asked that they begin and maintain treatment until they can make other arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"Having been out on the streets for nearly three years, completely off of her medication, and having experienced who knows what … the doctors are recommending that Rose stay in a controlled atmosphere for the time being."

Lindsay briefly looked over at Danny, then away—as if ashamed.

"She seemed so happy."

"For you maybe," Ellen said gently. "I admit, I was surprised at how well she responded to you. In fact, the doctor's were surprised when I told them what I observed."

"She likes poetry—and sometimes she talks in riddles. And she gets confused with names. You have to follow her lead there. And—"

"Yes, all of that is documented. We followed all of your recommendations, Detective Monroe. And are grateful for them."

Slowly, Ellen closed her folder and briefly glanced over at Danny for support—or in hesitation. "I know you're unsure about the medication, but her doctors have documented sixteen different personalities since she went into observation. Several of them have been violent from the paranoia."

"She's only been in there two days," Lindsay looked over at Danny—alarmed, seeking his support. "What is going on?"

He sighed, his loyalty toward Lindsay, but somehow he knew both women were looking to him for support.

"She's getting the best care possible."

"She wasn't violent when she was out there—" Lindsay raised her good arm and pointed toward the window. "She was fine before people started to treat her like something was wrong."

"There is something wrong with her, Ms. Monroe," Ellen said firmly, then—for some reason stopped herself. Softened.

"I believe," she said slowly, "that Rose found an anchor of some sort in you. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case for us, or for her doctors. With the families' wishes, they've begun medication. We're not sure what she'll do or how she'll respond to you when she comes in later. We'll be watching, Detective Monroe."

As she stood, Ellen gave Lindsay a soft smile. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

When Ellen left, Lindsay looked over at Danny. "I'm not so worried about me … but Hannah. Danny—"

He stood and walked over, taking the seat Ellen had vacated, bringing it around her desk. There, he took her hand. "What's got you most worried?"

"She didn't want to be on medication. It frightened her," Lindsay's fingers tightened around his, as she sought out his eyes, and slowly bit her lip. "She seemed okay—a little off, but okay. I know in my head that its the right thing and her family is going to do what's best for her, but my heard--she was so afraid of medicine. Afraid to lose her ..."

"Bones," he added.

"I just ... I listened to her. I let her ... go on. Danny, I didn't get her the help she needed."

"Lindsay, we see homeless out there everyday. I grew up seeing them everyday. Most of them need some help; some medication. We can't get them all help they need. We don't have the power to do that."

"But she is my friend," she said, and then frowned as the weight of it hit her again. "Or was …"

The look in her eyes was so sad. So lost, knowing she was going to lose the friend she'd found--and blaming herself at the same time.

But there was more. There was something else there he couldn't decipher. He wished that he could understand. Give her what she needed.

Danny swallowed, not knowing how to respond, as his phone went off. He pulled it out without releasing Lindsay's hand.

"I've got a DB to get to," he told her and gave her hand a squeeze—wishing he had the right to do more. "If I can, I'll be back when you talk with Hannah. Let me know when they're bringing her in, ok?"

She nodded.

"How 'bout you?" he still held her hand as he stood. "You're going to be ok?"

"I'll be fine—not alone and not on a case," she added, somehow understanding the look in his eyes. "Right now, apparently, I'm the crime scene. Mac's going back with me to the hospital. Maybe if I talk to the cab driver and the work man, maybe I'll remember something about what happened to my badge."

Giving in, Danny leaned down and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Let me know," he said again, and walked out—looking back once more before she was obscured from his sight.

* * *

Lindsay lifted her good arm and put a hand to the place where Danny had dropped a kiss. It had felt right—even if it was so very wrong. She wasn't sure if she wanted that from him. Was she?

She stood and left her office and the conversation behind. Right now, she needed to find Mac. She needed some answers.

And she needed to find out if she had some of them herself.


	10. Chapter 10

_I have been so dying to write this chapter since I decided to work D/L back together. Maybe. Or at least to try to bring them somewhere back to where its safe—it comes from something I came up with earlier as a separate thought/story during the spoilers after Child's Play … enjoy._

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're fun._

* * *

Hannah 10:

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," Lindsay said as they stepped off the elevator as she battled the sadness, the image of seeing Hannah so medicated. So _lost_.

"I was hoping I could get more from her, but she doesn't even remember me anymore."

"You did what you could, Lindsay," he ran a hand down her arm. "You're pushing yourself too hard. Maybe you should take the rest of the day, go home and get some sleep."

"Spoken like a doctor."

"I _am_ a doctor," he lifted a brow and then chuckled when she only shook her head. "But not yours. I get it, trust me."

"We have a dead cop and no answers."

"She gave you nothing the last time?" he asked, stopping just down from her office she shared with Danny.

"Just … bad cops meeting with bad bones, trying to change out the bones."

"It happened just down from the morgue," he offered. "You think someone's planning to steal bodies?"

"I've been running it through my head. If so, why? And over three months? Enough for Mike to be out on the street setting up some sort of sting?" Lindsay shook her head and reached up to fiddle with the strap on her sling as she watched Danny get off the elevator and head their way. "No—it has to be more. _Her bones_."

"What?"

"For Hannah bones are memories. Records. Maybe there's someone paying off a cop to change out records. To do something…"

"Just down from the precinct?" Hawkes murmured. "Or the lab. Either way, it could be someone wants to change what we have documented. Lets get Flack back here. See what he thinks."

"Hey," Danny said as he reached them. "Sorry I didn't get back in time."

"It's okay," Lindsay turned and led the way back toward their office. "We didn't get anything new anyway. Maybe Hannah gave us what she had though—before."

She stopped when she saw her office, saw through the clear glass to the surprise waiting on her desk. She turned toward Danny and couldn't help the grin.

"You sent me _flowers?_" she asked, not at all disappointed to feel the small leap of hope in her chest.

On her desk sat a vase full of at lest two dozen long stemmed red roses. Maybe it was a little trite—buy a girl a big bunch of flowers to say you are sorry—but there was a reason for it being that way. There was just something about seeing something like that on your desk.

"_Wow_."

* * *

Danny felt a knot of jealousy form in his gut—one tightened by fear. If someone was sending Lindsay flowers, even if she seemed to hope they were from him, there was someone who could steal her away.

Someone worthy. Someone she could start fresh with.

"You didn't send her those flowers, did you?" Hawkes ask as Danny watched Lindsay push through the door and into their office.

"No."

He looked over at Hawkes—understood that the look he gave him was more than just laughter. No—in between their friendship were Hannah's cries.

_Cheater! Cheater!_

There was a warning there, in his look—and there wasn't much sympathy.

"You _are_ going to tell her?"

Danny looked back through the window as Lindsay pulled out the card from the arrangement. "I don't guess I'll have to."

He watched as she opened it, as she frowned; let out a sigh as she was prone to do.

Hawkes shook his head. "You've got a lot to make up to her man." Then he walked away and headed on down the hall. "I'm so glad I'm not _you_."

At that moment, Danny wished he wasn't himself either … wished he was someone that had taken the chance to send Lindsay flowers.

Just so she would look at him the way she had—with surprise and delight—and know that he deserved it. To know that he hadn't hurt her, _disappointed_ her, broken that easy bond that had been with them from nearly day one.

And he realized then what was hurting Lindsay deep down. In Hannah, she'd found a friend. A confidant, someone she could just be open with, when she couldn't be open with him. Maybe she regretted not making different choices, but she was also missing the person she'd grown close to, cared about.

That person—_her_ Hannah, her friend—was gone.

* * *

_Kee he he he he. (I think that laugh comes from the muppets. I'm not sure why or who, or if its even spelled the way it sounds to me :p )._

_Who sent her those flowers…? I wonder. Kee he he he he. :p_


	11. Chapter 11

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun._

* * *

Hannah 11:

Danny walked into the office he shared with Lindsay and watched as she slowly set he note down on her desk. She reached across, picked up a file.

"I'm going to run down, drop these reports off with Stella before I head home."

He grabbed her arm before she could reach for the door.

"Lindsay—"

"If you want to look at the note and see what it says, go ahead," she briefly looked back at him, he big brown eyes looking so lost. "But I can't talk to you right now … and I hate that I'm falling into one of our old traps, where both of us have been before. But I'm tired of making a fool of myself where you're concerned. And I'm sick of not being able to talk to you."

"Lindsay—" he tried again, but when she pulled away, he let her go and watched as she walked out the door, then disappeared down he hall.

Turning, he stared at he small scrap of paper she'd left on her desk. Not a florist's card, but a scrap of paper. He picked it up, stared down at the words.

_You're the most beautiful _

_woman I've ever seen. _

_I'm amazed by the_

_woman that you are. _

_My hero._

_Toward the day _

_we meet in person,_

_Yours._

He left out a short breath, a half laugh. How come those words seemed so perfect for what he felt? Besides the obvious fact that it wasn't someone Lindsay knew. A secret admirer.

A cliché, he though.

But someone very real. Someone who might have a chance. Someone who was at least trying to give her what she wanted.

What she needed.

He stood in his office, and stared down at the note. He wanted to be comforted by the fact that Lindsay hadn't seemed intrigued, that she'd wanted the flowers to be from him.

But instead he just felt … alone. He just missed her.

The quick tap on the door drew him around even as Hawks leaned in. "We found the car. Flack wanted to know if you wanted to go with us tocheck it out before we bring it in."

_The car that had caused the chain of events that landed Lindsay alone and in the hospital?_

"I wouldn't' miss it."

* * *

Lindsay found Stella and passed off the paperwork she'd completed. "All done."

"Headed home?"

"I hope so," she nodded toward her sling. "Me and my new buddy need some well deserved rest."

Stella laughed. "Heard you got a dose of medication already in the form of an amazing bouquet of flowers."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't sound like a woman who was happy to get said flowers."

"I don't know, Stella. I don't know who sent them. The note claims we haven't met," Lindsay looked over at Stella. "It gives me he creeps."

"Flowers?"

"You seem surprised. You were getting pricy gifts a few months back. They gave you the willies, too."

"And rightly so. You want me to check for fingerprints, see if something hits?"

"No—I don't think it's harmful. I just wish …"

As her voice faded away, Stella simply smiled gently and lifted a knowing brow. "They were from someone in particular?"

Lindsay just sighed. "Am I that obvious?"

"Lindsay, in the world of relationships, I am not the one to really help you or Danny out … or to push either of you together or apart." Stella paused for a moment and pressed her lips together, her eyes thoughtful. "But it seems that what you and Danny had, before anything else, was a solid, enviable, friendship. Whatever happens, whatever he deserves, it's hard not to root for that. To be somewhat jealous of the potential you could grasp."

"I believed that … before."

"Well," Stella tapped Lindsay's good arm with the folder. "I've known Danny a long time and I'm not saying he deserves to be let off, but at the end of the day, whatever his mistakes, Danny has a heart that feels more than most of us allow ourselves o feel. And when or if someone like that who feels like that turns that on you …"

With a shrug, Stella turned and left Lindsay standing there alone, remembering how Danny could draw her own feelings out with one single look …

And the words of Radiohead replaying in her mind.

Y_ou've got to feel it in your bones_.

Danny's song had hit closer to the truth. She didn't want to be picking up _bones of love that was dead and gone_. She was tired of that. And she didn't want to _be crippled and cracked, shoulders wrists, knees and back, ground to dust and ash, crawling on all fours._

She wanted to feel alive, the way she'd felt before Christmas, before Reuben Sandoval died and her Danny faded away, before … the rest, back to when it seemed that what she'd felt for Danny would last forever.

She wanted her bones alive and moving.

* * *

_So, many of you have asked about Hannah. At one point, she was going to die … but instead she's getting treatment … and, since you asked so nicely, I think you just might see her again one more time. :p_


	12. Chapter 12

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun._

* * *

Hannah 12:

Lindsay was setting another bouquet of flowers in the break room when Hawkes walked in. He eyed the flowers. They were really ornate, but not really Lindsay—fancy and all frills like something you might find as the centerpiece of some high society banquet. Not something you would give to impress a soft romantic.

At least, he thought, eyeing the other arrangement that sat in the break room. Not more than once.

"More flowers?" Lindsay simply shot him a look. He shrugged. "Someone's obviously putting some money into those things. Care to enlighten me?"

"The _only _secret is who sent them," she reached into the bouquet and pulled out a note, once again on a scrap piece of paper.

"_To my hero of beauty and grace. Until we meet, your love_." He lifted a brow. "Nice touch."

"The person I _want_ to receive flowers from isn't sending them."

"Maybe he feels like he doesn't have the right?"

Lindsay looked down, sad, as she had so much since Reuben Sandoval was killed. Danny hadn't realized it then, and maybe he didn't now, but she'd taken on his pain long before she'd felt her own. She would have moments of happiness, but then something would happen.

Once a team, together. Walking together, talking things through together, working side by side. They'd come in the room … just, together.

Then Danny, in his cloud of grief, started just walking away. The first to leave meetings, autopsy, trace, even when they were working a case together. She'd just been left to follow, left … looking lost, not knowing what to say to him, and, Hawkes supposed, aware that everyone saw the separation and no one knew how to help.

And apparently Danny had been doing more than walk away. He'd turned to someone else and left Lindsay feeling cold. It was probably why he'd backed more away from her than he did everyone else.

Even though he hadn't been himself around anyone.

It was going to take time and work to get back to that easy close connection Danny and Lindsay had felt from the start. In the mean time, his friends were going to hurt, and for Hawkes that wasn't something easy to watch.

Hawkes walked over and slid his arm around Lindsay, drawing her close to his side.

"Just talk to him, Lindsay. Just talk to him until everything is said."

"I used to believe that wasn't possible. Now I not even sure where the words are."

"They'll come back. If it means enough, if he means enough, the words never left."

* * *

Danny met Flack outside of observation. They had two men in two separate rooms, where they were already being questioned. Neither seemed to be hardened criminals, nor did they seem smart enough to pull any elaborate con or hold on to their made up stories under interrogation.

Danny worked his jaw where one had landed a punch earlier. He'd gotten one in, but it had been his last.

"Hawkes has their fingerprints all over the car," Danny reported and passed Flack a folder of what they'd already gathered from preliminary trace. "Its definitely them."

"Well, we'd already figured that out. You okay with this?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You have that look in your eyes, Messer. You think you can contain it?"

Danny laughed derisively. "I can contain it," he said.

"I'll go back in with dingbat number one for the time being. He looked ready to fold. I'm not sure how much you'll get out of yours," Flack looked back through the window of the other. "I think I can get mine to crack first."

"Want to make a wager?"

"I should take you up on that, but not this time," he slapped Danny on the back. "Yours has already clammed up and cried for a lawyer. By the way, I played the Hannah card earlier. They think we have a witness that can put them in that ally."

Danny thought of Rose—or Hannah—of Lindsay's belief in her. Of how Lindsay might react if they pushed. "You going to bring her back in? Try to have her pull them out of a lineup."

"No," this time Flack's voice was sad. He looked in on the suspect, his eyes—that had been lit with humor—suddenly serious. "Even if she could, the social worker hasn't given me a good picture of her state. She's heavily medicated, Dan … and her health is slipping. It's like she's giving up. I couldn't even bring her in if I wanted to …"

"And if you did …" Danny prompted, thinking of Lindsay and how Rose's failing health would affect her. Lindsay was going to take it hard.

"If I did, it wouldn't matter anyway. It wouldn't hold up in court. The defense could easily get a judge to withhold the testimony."

* * *

Danny walked out of interview and rubbed a hand over his face. Flack had been right. The guy had lawyered up, and whoever he was working for had the money, and the brains, to pay for a slick defense attorney.

Didn't they realize the shark in the pricy suit only made them more suspicious? Danny only hoed that Flack had gotten more out of his before the lawyer showed up.

He stopped when he saw Lindsay.

She stood in front of the door, holding her hands together in front of her, looking just a little bit nervous. She no longer wore her sling, though at times he could tell her shoulder bothered her. The cuts on her face were healing. It was almost as if it hadn't happened.

But he'd just walked out of interview with the image of her in the hospital in his head. He would never forget that paralyzing fear when Adam had told him.

Knowing he could have lost her all over again. For good.

She drew in a deep breath. "I want you to take me out, if we get off shift in time to go somewhere."

He stopped in front of her. "I think I can do that."

"And I want to dress up, go somewhere nice, not some bar or dive or somewhere that your uncle Julius took you when you were twelve."

"Okay."

"I mean, we can still do that. Later. But not tonight."

"Okay," he waited a beat, worried over what it all meant. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it," she shrugged, and something more like the Lindsay he knew came back into her eyes. "Except …"

"What?"

"Maybe _you_ can bring me some flowers this time?"


	13. Chapter 13

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun._

* * *

Hannah 13

Danny took an hour personal time and headed over to the ward where Rose was held. He could have used it as a reason to look into the case, into Rose's well being according to his case, but that seemed wrong. He was going to see her simply because of her connection to Lindsay.

In the waiting room, clean and white, a woman rose. She had short strawberry blond hair and green eyes. She looked young, in her late twenties at the oldest. When she walked over to him and held out a hand, he managed to respond.

"Danny Messer," he said. "You're Leah. Rose's daughter."

"That's right," she said.

It made sense, he supposed. Rose—or Hannah—must have been through a lot on the streets, taking on a look much older than her true age.

"You said you wanted to speak with my mother?"

"I was hoping to."

"I just spoke with the doctor. Mamma's not responding well this afternoon. I had told the department that if she seemed ready to answer questions about the case or if the doctors deemed it safe—"

"I'm not here about the case. Your mother developed a relationship with my girlfriend. I'm here … just to see."

"You're _that_ man."

He lifted his brow. "Oh?"

"Lindsay and mama have had words about you," Leah gestured to one of the hard plastic seats and moved with him to sit down. "She's come by a few times. She didn't tell you?"

"We're going through a rough patch right now."

"Oh, right. So I've heard." Leah winced. "Mama doesn't always hold her secrets well right now."

"Does she remember Lindsay, at all? Does she know?"

"She remembers … feelings. The connection, I think. And maybe at times, when she felt lost, your Lindsay was someone she was secure with," Leah stared off, across the nearly empty waiting room. "She would get that way sometimes … just feel very insecure. My sisters and I, we didn't understand. It wasn't something my parent would let us really see. My father planned to live a long time. To make sure everything was set up for my mother to be taken care of. He died so suddenly."

"How long has she been …"

"Schizophrenic?" Leah finished for him. "Her whole life, I think, though it wasn't diagnosed until my sister was born. My father left her for awhile, and took us with him. Then, when she began to get treatment, he went back and learned everything he could. We were too small to know about it, and wouldn't have even known if my aunt hadn't come to us after he died. She told us, and we did our best to look after her …"

"But my father, he had paid attention to her so well. He knew when she was slipping. He knew what would happen if she missed a dosage or if the pills weren't working or needed to be raised or lowered. He made it his job to know her. And we never really understood that something was really wrong. I mean we knew … she had episodes, but we didn't know how _much_ he just took care of her. By knowing even the smallest detail."

"He must have loved her very much."

"They loved each other. I think … mamma slid into the personality of Hannah with Lindsay because Hannah was in control of her life, calm. Sedate. And maybe she could take care of herself. She's a wonderful woman … my mother. When she's … I suppose in a stable mind. Sometimes I wonder if that's her right mind, or if just something that's created by the medication," Leah looked at him, "But that's not what you're here to discuss with me."

"Maybe I just want to understand. Lindsay was able to open to your mother when she couldn't open to me. I just … I really messed things up," he didn't know why he was telling Leah this, except that it felt right to just share it with someone who wasn't in the middle of everything.

Maybe that's what Lindsay found with Hannah.

"I have to find a way to show her that … she's it for me."

Leah reached over and patted his hand. "Then do what my father did, Danny. Pay attention to the details."

* * *

Lindsay opened her apartment door to two bouquets of flowers; one of daisies, tied with a pretty yellow ribbon and one of roses in a vase. Her heart leaped, she couldn't help it.

"Please tell me that's Danny Messer behind there," she said.

"Funny, Montana," he said dryly as she reached out to take the daisies.

"I mean, I've gotten more flowers in the last week from someone I don't even know than I've gotten from you in … well, since I've known you."

"You were pretty clear."

"Someone told me that maybe you needed permission," she studied one bouquet and then the other as he stepped into her apartment. "Couldn't make up your mind?"

"No—I knew what I wanted."

He followed her when she walked into the kitchen. He set the vase of roses down, and she couldn't help but sigh. He hadn't just gone for a dozen bud roses, but a dozen long stemmed roses. One of those would have melted her heart. A dozen … well, she wouldn't call it over kill.

But it was the daisies she loved the most. She reverently lay them on the counter and opened one of her cabinets, pulling down a pretty mutli-colored vase she'd bought at some art gallery here in the city. It had ringlets of gold and a little red, and she'd been waiting for ages for him to bring her something to fill it with.

"I gave you a daisy once," he said as he watched her.

She looked over at him, surprised. "I remember."

"I've thought a lot about it today. About the good times we've had. The memories. Our bones."

"Hannah's bones."

He nodded to the daisies as she arranged them in a vase, "so those are for our bones. Our memories. The roses … are for … what I want. What I hope you want."

Across the counter, she just stared at him, her big brown eyes wide and unable, she knew, to hold back the emotion that wanted to flow out of her.

"Montana."

"I … just didn't think you'd … put any thought in to it," she said, her voice soft with uncertainty.

He reached across, took her hand. "It may not happen a lot, but I promise to try."

"That's all I want."

He smiled and drew her around the counter and into his arms.

* * *

He took her to a nice restaurant where they had gone before, but tonight he made reservations and they were dressed up nice. Instead of going to the bar, they sat down at a table.

For the most part, Lindsay wasn't too particular about anything, but he did remember one detail—when he'd missed her birthday. Away from her parents, away from her life, she'd wished he would show her that she was special.

It was a little detail, but it was one that had run through his mind over and over when she'd walked away from him.

Then he asked the cabbie to stop a few blocks from her place so they could just walk a little while, together. He missed just being with her.

They fell silent, companionably, as she just walked at his side. She'd slid her arm in his and leaned against him just a little.

"You haven't said a whole lot in awhile," he said as the front stoop of her apartment came into view.

"I'm still … processing."

"I wanted to … give us time to just be together. But, do you want to talk it through?" He asked. "Or yell at me, scream at me … beat me over the head with some heavy object … anything if it will make you feel better."

She laughed despite herself, but continued to walk. "I've just been thinking back. When my friends taken from me, I lost the people I new best. The girls I had an intimate, deep relationship with. Something you can't make. Something you can feel."

"In your bones."

"Yeah," she stared off into the distance and just remembered her own collection of bones, pieces of the past that were so very precious to her now. "You didn't have to say anything sometimes. You just knew. And the laughter was deep. Different then just regular laughter. It wasn't something that just happened. It was something we created, we built, over time. When I lost them, I lost that. By the time high school rolls around, groups are established. People are with who they want to be with. And I lost, maybe for a long time, the ability to connect with people in that way.

"Then there was you. It didn't just happen, but as it did, something inside of me just opened up," she frowned and as she reached her stoop, she let him go and turned to face him. "I guess I am a little angry about it, Danny. I'm so tired of losing the ability to talk to someone. To tell them … when I think of something, when something happens … to just _tell _them. To just _talk_ to them. To share … to just _share_…"

She opened her purse and pulled out a small wrapped package. She thrust it at him so it hit him hard in the chest. He reached up, grabbed it before it fell to the ground. He knew immediately by its weight what it was—the pair of steel stress balls she'd bought him.

"By the way, happy birthday," she turned and walked up the steps and stopped, hand on the handle, and looked back down at him. "You might want to keep those around _Messer_, because if you _ever_ take away the ability for me to talk to you again, those will be all you have left."

And turning, she keyed in her code, and disappeared inside.

Leaving him holding her package of steel balls, and a promise.


	14. Chapter 14

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun._

* * *

Hannah 14

Lindsay was called in to a crime scene early in the morning, so by the time she made it back to her office just after noon she'd been on the case for nearly six hours even before she'd taken a break for lunch. Hawkes came out of his just before she made the turn to go in to hers. He shook his head and smiled as he held out a folder of results.

"What?" she asked him.

"You're just still happy," he said. "It's good to see your smile back. I was a little worried when the anonymous flowers weren't helping. Never known flowers not to help a girl."

"I got some flowers that did help last night," Lindsay smiled as she rolled her shoulder, "and I feel great. Look Doc, no pain."

"No rehab needed then."

"Nope."

He tapped the folder on her good shoulder. "Good girl. Listen, hope this doesn't bring the mood down. Checked the prints from the crime scene this morning."

"Let me guess. Nothing."

Hawkes shrugged.

"Well, they always leave something behind. We'll find it," Hawkes held out a hand to stop her as she started to go into her office, then nodded toward the security guard who was heading to her with a long floral box wrapped in brown paper. "Looks like more flowers."

Lindsay rolled her eyes as the familiar security guard walked up to her. "Another delivery for detective Monroe. We sent it through a scan, came up, so we didn't up wrap it for you. Wife says half the fun of getting a gift is in the wrapping."

"One day you need to introduce me to your wife," she said as she accepted them. There was no outer card, as she expected. "Thanks Frank."

"No problem," he said and tipped his head. "Dr. Hawkes."

Lindsay walked into her office with Hawkes close behind and set the box on her desk, untying the elaborate bow.

"One thing you have to say," Sheldon murmured. "Someone's not sparing the expense."

"Did I tell you that Danny brought me long stemmed roses last night?" she asked as she unwrapped the package, then frowned and looked at Hawkes. "Doesn't look like Mr. Anonymous is so friendly anymore."

With that, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a spare pair of gloves and tugged them on, before she opened the box and pulled out the long handwritten letter.

* * *

Flack met Danny as he came into the precinct. He'd received the page as he left the little diner he'd met Lindsay in for lunch. It had felt right to meet her again, as they had before everything fell apart. It felt right to take the time to just sit and talk.

And laugh. It was so easy to just laugh with her. So even as he walked in to deal with the men whose recklessness had sent Lindsay to the hospital, he could help but note that he felt lighter in his heart than he had in months.

"So our boys have something to say?"

Flack looked toward interview. "This and that. They want a deal."

Danny studied Flack's look. "You don't think they have enough."

"If they did, someone would have paid their bail. Its only set at five thousand a piece."

"Five grand? A bail bondsman wouldn't help them out?"

"Idiot number one ran from his bail in Jersey twice. Idiot number two's lawyer is playing some sort of game with his client. Which tells me that if they have some information on someone big, they only started working for them, or … they're just small potatoes."

"Or they made someone mad. In any case, it amounts to the fact that they probably don't have a lot of information," Danny walked past Flack and through the doors into interview. He stopped and looked through the one way mirror where the two criminals sat side by side. "Doesn't change the fact, though, that we've got a dead cop and a dozen or more injuries from their little rendezvous through Manhattan streets."

He put his hand on the door, looked back at Flack. "Let's do this."

* * *

Lindsay and Hawkes set down the final two vases in trace and then stepped back just as Mac walked in. Five vases and the final box lined the table.

"These are all of them?" Mac asked, walking up to the box and picked it up with his gloved hands. He held it up, examined the medium velocity blood spatter that covered it.

"All of them. I had given one away to Jenna, but she never managed to take them home," Lindsay stepped over, looked into the box again and studied the long stemmed stems, the rose buds missing. "They were handled by a number of people. Security detail downstairs, me, a number of the lab techs who came into the break room."

"We analyzed the notes. Handwriting looks to be the same," Hawkes added. "And Adam's already collected blood samples, running it through DNA."

"I might have an answer for that already. Stella went out this morning while you two were out," he set the box down. "A flower delivery man was killed this morning. Lindsay—" he looked at her. "Preliminary bullet analysis makes it look like we've finally found your gun."

"The person who stole my gun and badge is the same one—"

"Who sent her flowers?" Hawkes finished.

Mac nodded. "Where's the note?"

Lindsay nodded toward the table, where the note had been entered into an evidence bag. Mac picked it up and as he began to read she felt Hawkes' hands rest on her shoulder.

"I gave my heart to you, gave your flowers to show my love, and yet you turn to another, take his flowers and go with him when you refused to give me the light of day," Mac stopped reading and glanced over at her. "Have you had any other contact with him?"

"Not outside the notes with the flowers. And never more than superfluous words. He never made any mention of meeting."

"She went out with Danny last night," Hawkes added.

"He brought me two different bouquets; long stemmed roses and daisies."

"Messer?" Hawkes asked, raising his brow. Mac quirked a soft smile.

Lindsay shot Sheldon a look and shrugged with a soft smile of her own. "You'll see that referenced in there."

"He describes your dress, the cab … and the man in glasses must be Danny," Mac shook his head and set the letter down. "So he's been watching you."


	15. Chapter 15

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun. _

* * *

Hannah 15

"Lindsay? Are you alright?"

She looked at Mac, took in the concerned expression on his face, and slowly nodded, feeling as if she had sunk into a dense fog. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She thought of the flowers she'd received that had been intended for someone else, that had ended up in murder. For her … no, she wasn't okay. She was sick.

"Don't internalize this, Lindsay," Mac warned waiting for her to look at him before he continued. "You know it's not going to help."

"I just … he _killed _someone for flowers?"

Hawkes reached around her for a one armed hug. "He _killed_ someone because of who he is, not because of you."

"I _know_ that. I just … it's so … _stupid_."

"When is murder anything but?"

She thought of the delivery man and the fact that he probably had family and friends. He was delivering flowers to someone, who didn't get them or was delayed in getting them. She wondered if the person knew what had happened, if her flowers--if the memory of getting the flowers was tainted with murder.

The consequences of it all wrapped around in her head like an anaconda, squeezing the breath out of her.

"Lindsay."

She blinked and found Mac looking directly at her, waiting for her to join him. She nodded, bringing herself back. Whatever the circumstance, she owed it to the people to help get the answers.

"I want you to go over footage from the security tapes downstairs as well as the media coverage from the accident. See what you can remember and if you can find anything that connects the two. Face, clothing, anything. Lets get all of the peices together, get this guy off the street as fast as possible."

She nodded, then walked out and leaned against the glass wall. It was one thing to have some guy send you flowers, or search after a murderer.

It was another thing to be right in the middle of it all.

She was so tired. Her body was feeling the sore spots from the car accident. Her shoulder was throbbing. She needed to take some medication, but couldn't. It would put lower her guard even more.

She took in a deep breath and stared out the open window at the Manhattan skyline—or more aptly, the building across the street. It made her miss the wide open sky in Montana. Everything had been simpler there.

Her hand trembled as she reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone.

And called Danny.

* * *

Danny walked out of interview ahead of Flack. "What do you think?"

"That someone in my department is helping the mob dispose of evidence?" Flack's jaw tensed as he looked back in at the petty criminals that had—or _said_ they had—uncovered one big mess. "I'm going to check out their story. You—" he shook his head as Danny's phone beeped, "answer your phone."

Danny smiled as he pulled out his cell. "Messer."

"Danny, it's Mac. I need you in trace as soon as you can get up here."

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Danny met with Mac and got the details quickly before searching Lindsay out. He found her in video, going over the news footage that had been recorded after her accident. She looked up as he came in and gave him a small smile that in no way met her eyes. She was haunted by the murder, by the fact that those flowers had been intended for other people.

"I didn't get your message until I was in with Mac. He flagged me to give me the details. You alright?" he asked as he pulled a chair up beside hers.

"Yeah." She sighed as he stretched his arm back behind her on her chair as her eyes scanned the footage. "I don't remember this, Danny. Not well."

"Then let's do what we do best." when she glanced at her, he winked in an attempt to lighten her mood. "Go over the details, Montana. What do you think I meant?"

"With you? Who knows," she tried to take comfort in the fact that he was there, his arm behind her on her chair. It was nice to feel close to him again.

And _that_ she thought, wasn't the job.

"So … what are the details?"

"You were coming in that cab. Dumb and Dumber clipped your cab causing a multi-car accident."

"I _know_ all that."

"Details, Lindsay. They're important," he said, "and I'm hoping you'll remember. Concentrate for me. Your cab driver, his name was Bob, right? He picked you up while you were … shopping. You were coming in to talk to Hannah."

She nodded. "Yeah … he said he was talking about his granddaughter's bad luck with men. He told me some stories. He told them to me in the hospital, too. I remember him telling me the stories. Then …"

"And then the accident happened."

She reran the footage to where the media coverage began. She watched as the stretcher, where she lay, was pushed onto the ambulance. The taxi where she'd been was in flames. There were people standing around, as happened at any scene, but the camera was not looking at the bystanders.

"Danny," she said slowly as a vague image formed. "There was someone over me. Someone stooped over me. I … he took my badge, my phone, and obviously my gun from my purse. I thought they were going to call. He didn't call."

"No, he didn't call. Do you remember a face? Anything?"

"No …"

"If we can get a face, a picture or something, Flack can go down and interview the guy that helped you from the taxi. See if he can remember anything."

She leaned forward and typed in the commands needed to pull up the security tape. "I had security send me up the footage from the last few days when he brought me flowers. He signed in, so the time was easy to mark. Adams already checking for fingerprints on the paper…though my guess is they'll match the prints on the vases."

Danny watched the security footage. "There's your flowers," Danny said as a man walked up to reception.

She elbowed him gently. "They were never _my_ flowers … my flowers are daisies and roses. I think I'm going to bring the daisies in tomorrow to put on my desk. Remind me of other things."

"Like what?"

She just smiled, then concentrated on zooming in on the video as the delivery person turned. "It looks like …"

"We have a face."

"He wasn't a delivery boy," she typed in commands to freeze the frame, then capture and blow up the face, then switched back to the media coverage and rewound the footage, stopping it and closing in on a man at the fringe. "We have him at both places."

"_Boom_."

Lindsay's hands paused on the keyboard and she looked over at him, her brown eyes slowly searching his and for a moment, the sweetest moment, it held. Then she softly smiled, and lowered her lashes as she turned back to the screen.

Since meeting her, he'd done a lot of resisting the smallest and largest of temptations, especially at work, but he didn't think it had ever been so hard to not move in for a kiss at that very moment.

And he wanted that kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

Note ... I wasn't happy with Chapter 15, so I went back and made some changes to try and get more into the characters ... so I can't say I'm too happy with it now, _but_ I promise the action is going to come back really soon. And Hannah. Some of you are still looking for that last sighting of Hannah I promised. I haven't forgotten ... and maybe she hasn't either.

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun. So review, please. It will make me happy. :p_

* * *

Hannah 16:

Danny had stopped working by the time Lindsay hung up her phone. He'd turned his chair so that he could watch her several minutes ago, having been alerted by the slight tightness in her voice. It was barely perceptible, and overall cheery, but he'd been listening to that voice for over three years now and he knew her.

But as she hung up the phone she let the façade crumble.

"What's wrong?"

"They're moving Hannah—or Rose. They're moving _Rose_ this afternoon."

"I'm sorry, Linds."

"I figured it would take time. Doesn't paperwork usually take forever? Is it wrong of me to be upset with her daughter for taking her away?" she asked, then pushed up from her desk and sat immediately back down. "And happy. Happy too, because they have a chance to be a family. It's only to New Jersey. It's not like I _couldn't_ go see her if I needed to. Why am I so upset?"

"I'd call it normal."

She nodded, but she still looked tired, unsteady, and stir-crazy. And it was no wonder. She'd been left in the building to dig through paperwork while others had left to go out and hunt for the crazy flower delivery killer.

"I need to go by, see her this afternoon," she picked up a pen, turned it in her fingers, and then she looked over at him, somewhat uncertain. "Would you go with me?"

"Sure."

He watched her as she picked up her phone, set it down again, then moved to check her email. He knew what she needed.

He checked his watch, noted that it was long past lunch time, and probably long past time she took her medication. He watched as she favored her shoulder, holding her arm close against her. "Maybe we should take a break, get something to eat before we head over there. Linds?"

She looked over at him, distracted and distant.

"Lunch?"

She blinked, her beautiful brown eyes suddenly alarmed. "Danny—he knows who you are. He was watching us both and is really unhappy with us both. Neither one of us are safe. Do you really think its wise for us to walk out that door together?"

"Well, you're not walking out that door by yourself."

"You know what I mean."

"Lindsay," he said gently, "five minutes ago you asked me to go with you to see Rose."

"Five minutes ago I hadn't put two and two together. I can't get my mind around the fact that he killed that guy," she chewed on her bottom lip which did now what it always did—drove him more than a little crazy. He grinned as he sat back and watched her, thankful, that at last he had the right to do so.

Whatever had happened over the last few days had lifted many of the barriers they'd put up between them. While he wouldn't say things were back where he wanted—no, _needed_—them to be, it was better, so much better now.

Now she wouldn't turn away if she caught him watching. Now, though he still felt pangs of guilt, it didn't cause him to turn away.

Now they seemed to be on the same track.

Except he didn't mind drawing this joker out—just not with Lindsay around. "I'll call Mac; tell him we've got the truck."

"This is personal, Danny, we can't take the city's—"

"He's got a detective's _badge_ and gun, Montana. As long as he's out there, I think it's the city's business."


	17. Chapter 17

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun. _

* * *

Hannah 17:

Danny knocked on the glass door to Stella's office. Though her phone was pressed to her ear, she seemed to be concentrating on her computer more than the call, telling him she was on hold. She turned and waved him in with a simply flick of her fingers.

"Lindsay and I are taking a couple of hours personal time to go down to psych to say goodbye to Rose before they move her."

"Yeah, I just signed off on some of the paperwork," Stella readjusted the phone on her shoulder. "How's Lindsay doing?"

There was more in Stella's eyes than simple interest, and more there than her knowledge of Rose and what she'd meant to Lindsay when she was simply Hannah.

"She's taking it all in," he said at last. "Just processing."

"Things are better then, between the two of you."

"For now. I don't know how much is just pushed back until she can deal with it."

And if when the danger was all over, the arrests made … if things would go back to how they had been when he could only text her and hope she would reply.

"Don't be afraid of time, Danny. It does a lot for healing."

* * *

Lindsay was waiting at there office when he wondered back rubbing the key to the truck between his two fingers.

"Took you long enough," she grinned. "I'm starving."

"Are you now?" He gave her a smile and extended a hand to her. Inside, he felt some of the panic that rose up during his conversation with Stella, shrink just a bit. It felt good to have her hand in his, like this, again.

"Where are you going to take me?"

"Who says I'm taking you anywhere?"

"You have the keys," she reminded him. "And when have you let me drive?"

"When we ran out to get some lunch out at Amityville."

"When we were out of the city," she simply shook her head as they stepped onto the elevator.

"And there was that day your first year here when you picked me up on the way to the crime scene."

"That was my first year, Messer," she reminded him and turned looking up at him as she took his other hand. "Besides, you still argued with me that you should drive."

"You were new."

"I'm not new now."

He just grinned at her. They stood there for a moment, just each taking their fill, without talking. He held onto her hands and enjoyed the closeness—not just in body.

"It's been so long since we've been like this," he said without thinking.

She blanched and froze, the easy going look in her eyes melting away. He held on when she attempted to tug her hands back.

"Montana," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know." She ducked her head, so he lost contact with her eyes. "Danny … It's going to hurt for awhile. And its probably going to be a little spiteful when it does, because … I'm not sure I'm going to be able to let it go until …" She looked back up at him, her eyes a little lost and more than a little uncertain. "I don't know. Until it stops hurting like this. I'm so scared that I'm just going to push you away, when all I want is for the hurt to go away. You're going to have to be patient with me, Danny."

It was the most honest she had been with him in a long time, perhaps ever.

"I'm going to have to be a lot of things," he tugged her hands up to press them to his heart, which brought her eyes back to his, and thought of Rose's daughter's advice. _Take care of her_. "But you're here."

"I'm here."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. "You're stuck with me Monroe," he murmured, even as the doors singled that they had stopped.

He stepped back and held on to one of her hands as he started to lead her from the elevator. She stopped him, though, holding back, much like she had done with him in Bozeman after the verdict was read. He looked back and realized, somehow, it was like then. They were starting. From here on out they were moving forward, working together, _stuck_.

She smiled, the look in her eyes still a little wary, but hopeful. It was the hope he held on to.

"Good," she said, and moved forward to stand beside him. "Didn't I say something about starving?"

He grinned. "Let's go. I've got the perfect place in mind."

Where he'd taken her the last time they'd started, after she'd gotten back from Montana last year and he'd picked her up from the airport. A simple little restaurant, that meant a lot more now. Besides, while the burgers were the best in New York, the service was terrible, and it would give them time to talk before heading over to see Rose.

* * *

Lindsay climbed into the truck and settled into the cab with Danny. Inside and outside of their problems, she was just glad that some normalcy had returned between them. She'd missed the connection, the laughter, the looks. She thought of the poem Rose had given her from Hannah's personality. She kept a copy beside her bed, so at night she could read it and think about it.

And think about _stile of pride_ that kept her angry sometimes into the night.

_Forgiveness lane is old as youth, you cannot miss your way; 'T is hedged with flowering thorn forsooth where white doves fearless stray. You must walk gently with your Love, frail blossoms dread your feet— And bloomy branches close above Make heaven near and sweet. Some lovers fear the stile of pride And turn away in pain—But more have kissed where white doves hide and blessed Forgiveness Lane!_

She looked over at Danny as she buckled her seatbelt. He turned the keys in the ignition and leaned back to find her watching.

"What?"

"Just thinking of something Hannah gave me. A poem."

"The book of poetry you gave Hannah."

"Yeah … I'll have to tell you about it sometime."

"I have a feeling there's still a lot you can tell me about Hannah," he winked at her, then putting a hand to the headrest on her seat, turned and backed out of the parking space.

Lindsay grinned as she watched him. She liked giving him a hard time about going all _New Yorker_ on her when they had to drive, but the truth of it is that she would rather watch then have to concentrate on the crazy New York traffic. There was always something to see, something different or odd, maybe even funny. And maybe she was a sadist, but she liked the way Danny would laugh at her just a little—because of that particular smile it brought to his face.

She shook her head as they wound their way out of the parking garage, lifted a hand to wave at Detective Scagnetti, but of course he just walked on, not seeing her. Lindsay shook her head. The things New York detectives noticed and didn't.

Danny slowed and rolled down the window, pulling out his ID and holding it up for the attendant to see with two fingers. As the two exchanged a few words, someone took the chance to walk passed the opening.

He turned his head, spotted them, then stopped, looking again.

And it registered.

"Danny—" she said as she shifted, unholstering her replaced piece. "That's—"

But even as Danny turned, the man withdrew a weapon—_her_ weapon.

"Down!" Danny shouted, reaching across and grabbing onto her head with a handful of her hair, bringing her down just as the glass exploded all around them.


	18. Chapter 18

_By the way, as usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun. And help ... thanks ReJo for helping to change the wording.  
_

* * *

Hannah 18:

"Owe."

Her seatbelt was pressed awkwardly into her shoulder, her head still held down by a firm Danny, and tiny shards of glass continued to cascade over them. Her fingers closed over the handle of her gun that she'd managed to pull out before the shots.

"You all right?" Danny asked.

"Except where you're trying to scalp me?"

His fingers untangled from her hair, even as he opened his car door and climbed out, gun prepared. She glanced up, undid her seatbelt with quick fingers and slid out.

Danny held up his gun and the young man with wild eyes. Her stolen gun dangled from his fingers at his side. Blood stained his light trench coat where he'd been shot. The attendant stood to the side, holding his own gun steady.

Lindsay trained her own weapon as a half dozen officers rounded into the parking garage, weapons drawn.

"Why don't you put the gun down, and we can have a nice long conversation indoors?"

"I just wanted to talk to her," he looked at Lindsay. "You never thanked me for the flowers."

"I'm sorry," Lindsay told him. "I didn't know."

"Why don't you put the gun down, and we can have a nice long conversation indoors?"

"Danny—" Lindsay said as the man's fingers twitched on the gun that still hung at his side. "You've been shot. We need to get you some help."

"You helped that man," he said and Lindsay watched as he swung the gun back and forth, "got him out of the car. I saw you. You helped him."

"Yes, I helped him—" but it troubled her to think of it in that way. She concentrated on the gun in his hand.

"You were a hero. I wanted you to be my hero. Like the song."

She looked at him now, looked at him in the eye. "Like what song?"

"It hurts. It always hurts. Every day when I wake up, it just hurts to be alive. The sun, the noise. I'm so tired. I thought you could help me. You would be my hero, take away the pain. Make the world better. It's a bad place, it was a bad place until I saw you."

Lindsay glanced at Danny, saw the dismay in his eyes, but he didn't take his eyes off the man.

"You gave me this," he pulled out her badge, held it up. "Told me to call when I needed you. You never picked up. I tried to call, but you never answered."

A picture flashed in her mind of him holding her badge to his ear, as if it were some sort of telecommunication device. She felt something sad, pity ... dismay. He'd taken it off of her. She's asked him to call, told him to tell whoever about Danny. She remembered that.

"I sent you flowers."

She shook her head slowly, keeping her eye and weapon trained steadily on him. "You took those flowers. Someone else was supposed to get them. Do you think that was fair?"

"I didn't. Those were yours. They were handing them out of this truck outside the Plaza. Just handing them off to some guys."

Lindsay remembered the arrangement that had been fancy as if for some reception. She could see it now, the delivery guys forming a organized system to take the arrangements into the hotel.

"I stepped up and he handed them to me, then he wanted it back. But they were yours. Then they didn't want to give me anymore, but they were yours."

"What about the guy you killed?" Danny asked. "The one you shot?"

He turned his eyes to Danny, confused. "I just got his attention. Then he gave me the flowers, but they were the wrong ones. You gave her flowers, too. So I cut off the heads, so she wouldn't think they were yours."

Tears appeared in his eyes. "You never took mine home. I watched and waited. You never brought them out. You didn't—"

He raised his gun again, his hand trembled.

"No—" Lindsay shouted, even as a shot was fired.

* * *

_If this was TV, you would look at the clock at this point as the commercial flashed on and note that the show was almost over. So ... I thought I'd mention that ... this piece is almost done. :p And I don't believe in to be continueds. Not in TV land.  
_


	19. Chapter 19

_Once upon a time, there was some mush in this chapter--but I couldn't even comfortably imagine Danny Messer saying it ... so pretend this is on TV and the song (Hero) is playing ... but that still might be a little too much. In the end, remember that in the previous chapter, the man was wrapped up in it. And maybe, just maybe, that's what's in Danny's mind now. Still, just thinking that makes me gag just a little (it might be because I hate that song--seems really odd, I know). Anyway, TMI ...  
_

_As usual, I do not own or really have any say in the following characters. But I'm glad you stopped by to read and have to say that I am so thankful for the reviews. They're really fun and keep you writing, for one! And thanks ReJo for the suggestion in the last review, I took it and I think made the change you pointed out. :p  
_

* * *

Hannah 19:

The man fell back, crying out, the gun dropping from his fingers as the shouts and noise of action echoed through the parking garage.

Danny stood there and slowly lowered his gun as he stared at the man's wrist, now shattered and bleeding. She walked over and placed a hand on his chest, looking up at him. He had yet to look at her.

"Danny," she said softly. "You okay?"

He turned then and looked at her, then holstered his piece before reaching up and digging his fingers into her hair so that tiny shards of glass shimmered to the ground. He lowered his forehead to hers, breathed in. "Yes," he murmured.

They stood like that for a moment, letting the tension ebb away. Others took control of the scene. Someone retrieved Danny's gun. No one spoke to them, no one said anything.

Finally, he leaned back and studied her eyes before reaching up and touching her face gently. Then he was simply Danny. The worry and fear was replaced by something more than relief.

"Shut up," she said before he could speak, afraid of what he might say. She looked away, fighting against the urge to flee even as she holstered her own weapon.

"What?"

"Just don't tease me ... not about this."

"No … not about this," he brought up his other hand and brushed glass gently from her hair before he simply stopped cradled her face between both his own. For a moment, with all the chaos around them, he just studied her with blue eyes that held so much. "You really would cry, if you saw me crying."

"What?" It was her turn to be confused.

"The song. Never mind. I'm just babbling now."

She stared at him, worried a little over the look in his eyes. He was thinking of Reuben, of sadness. He was thinking of her. That much she knew. Maybe … it just wouldn't process. Right now, all she could think of was the stranger who'd wanted her to be his hero.

For whatever reason.

Lindsay watched as they hoisted the guy, now weeping, to his feet. He would be okay, at least physically. "I don't even know his name."

She rested her head on Danny's shoulder and just watched as they led the man away. She could hear the sirens in the distance, but they didn't drown out his weeping.

And she saw it all over again. The smoke and the chaos of her own accident. The glass shattering as it was kicked it. Going to Bob, the taxi driver—his aged face sagging as he slept through the panic.

And the man who held her badge, who'd taken it from her, even as she told him to call Danny.

"Next time you need to teach me something Monroe," Danny said, as he brushed out a little more glass from her hair. "Try to do it without getting involved in an accident and picking up someone who quotes songs or poetry. Just be straight with me. I don't want to miss the message."

She leaned back from him and saw the Messer grin. She rolled her eyes, before reaching up and attempting to get the glass out of hisown hair. There was about a half dozen tiny cuts on his face from the glass.

"You seem to be doing fine so far."

"Messer," Don said coming around the exit opening to the parking garage. "You going to explain to Mac what happened to his truck?"

Lindsay and Danny turned around and stared at the truck. There were three holes in the windshield, two of them where their own heads had been before they ducked out of the way. The tires had been shot out as well.

"Mac's going to kill you," Lindsay said.

"Why me? Guy was after you."

She shot him a grin. "You were the one in the driver's seat."

"I'll have to take Danny's side on this, Monroe."

"What? Why?"

Flack's dimples flashed. "I caught a ride back with you one day. But maybe you'll think highly of me anyway, since I have a gift." Don held out Lindsay's badge. "Thought you might want this back."

She closed her hand around it, and sighed. Maybe it was crazy, but there was a personal connection here. She'd been issued it when she arrived in New York, the day she met Danny, the day she started down this road. She didn't have that connection with the temporary one.

"Thanks."

"You all right, then Linds?" Don asked, studying the cuts on her face. She lifted a hand winced as she touched one of them.

But it was so little compared to what could have happened.

"I'm fine."

"What about me?" Danny asked.

"It's an improvement, Messer," Don said, then reached in and took out his notebook. "If you would, get your statement down later. We probably won't be able to do much with this guy until after he gets done at the hospital. I do have some news for you. Those nut jobs that started this whole mess were right. Some guy from my house was being fed orders from the mob."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"You don't seem upset about it," Lindsay said.

"Oh, I am. That it fell apart, that it cost a cop his life and that we nearly lost one of our own in the process. But, since it was department sting and those boys are singing down some evidence that's pointing us in the right direction, I think I can celebrate in their favor for a bit. It might not get us the top, but its getting us closer." He pocketed his notebook. "You guys want to join me for a little late celebration lunch? My treat since Lindsay had a hand in bringing this down."

"Thanks, Flack, but we've got an appointment to keep," Danny checked his watch. "This little episode already cost us too much time."

"Tonight then."

"No, actually," he looked down at Lindsay. "We have plans tonight."

"We do?"

He sent her a quick grin and she smiled back, before she turned to Don. She wasn't going to argue with him this time. "We'll catch up with you tomorrow."

Flack simply shook his head and headed over to the attendant to get his statement to add to the file on her badge case and the flower delivery homicide.

"Ready?" Danny asked, holding out a hand. "I guess it's safe to walk now."

"I guess so," Lindsay looked back at the truck that was already being processed by some of their lab techs. "Maybe Mac will let me drive next time."

* * *

Lindsay sat across the table from Rose, and said goodbye as their hands touched in the center one last time. Lindsay stood up and pushed away, grateful for the few moments they'd had. Rose remembered her, remembered some of their time together, even though "Hannah" was carefully kept at bay by her medication. They didn't talk of the past though, but of the future, of her family.

And though this was just one more friend who was going away, at least this time Lindsay knew that it wasn't an ended. Not really; not when it was a happy home, with more life to live.

Lindsay put her hand to the door just as Rose muttered, "You've forgiven him."

They hadn't spoken of Danny—not since she'd come here. Lindsay stopped, and slowly turned back around and looked at Rose.

"Remember your bones, Detective Monroe," she said—though until that moment she had referred to her as Lindsay. "Remember them. They will hold you together, keep you strong. Both of you."

Hannah wasn't gone—or wasn't completely different from Rose, Lindsay realized. There, in her eyes, she saw Hannah—the connection with her friend, the depth of wisdom.

For a moment they just stared at each other, absorbing the connection until Rose smiled and the moment was over.

Lindsay nodded, and turned to exit through the door. There, Danny was waiting for her. She reached out, took his hand, and walked out with him.

Together.

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed Hannah, and the last few moments that you got to spend with her on this journey. I for one, am glad it's over … still, I would LOVE to know what you think, of this chapter and the story as a whole. Please review!! :)_

_FYI ... in the beginning, Hannah was going to die. I know ... but her "home" was on the streets, and the streets weren't safe for her anymore, obviously ... however because people kept asking to see her again, and because I kind of thought she would be considered a ward of the state, she got to live and come back one more time. I would like to think she would appreciate that :silly: _


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